Hey There, Stranger
by ThePoetCerridwen
Summary: A Supernatural Imagine. You're at a diner and have just received your order of a slice of apple pie when you hear a voice off to your right: "Dean, no, leave the girl alone." Curious, you turn to see what's going on—and meet the candy-apple green eyes of the hottest man you've ever seen. DeanxReader. Featuring Hurt!Reader and Protective!Caring!Dean. Normal AU. FINAL CHAPTER UP!
1. Chapter 1

**AU where there's no hunters or monsters or demons, just a couple of normal brothers living together while Sam attends Stanford. Enjoy and please drop a review!**

 **Y/N = Your Name**

The little doorbell jingles as you enter the semi-busy diner. It was around three in the afternoon, so most people had already had lunch and left, but there were still a few customers speckling the interior.

You approach the bar and plop down on a stool with a heavy sigh. Breakups fucking suck, you think quietly to yourself. Anger, resentment, and heartbreak still roil inside you, but you're not gonna cry anymore, got that? No more crying. You fist your hands until your knuckles turn white and your fingernails cut painfully into your palms.

"Hey Y/N, you okay?"

You look up to see a waitress wearing a concerned expression standing in front of you. You muster up a smile. "Hey, Maggie. Yeah, I'm okay," you reply. "Just, life, you know?"

Her concern morphs into empathy and she pops her gum. "I've seen that look," she says. "Something happen between you and Brandon?"

You nod, blowing out a breath. "Son of a bitch cheated on me. Walked right in on it, too. In my bed."

"Damn!" Maggie scowls. "You want me to kill him?"

You laugh. "I appreciate the offer, but no thanks. I already shoved a blue sharpie up his ass, dragged him outside and threw him in the dumpster like the piece of trash he is."

Maggie stares at you as if trying to tell whether or not you're joking.

You smirk proudly. "I'm not joking."

A smile slowly spreads across her face. "Okay girl, you know what? Your order is on the house."

Your eyes widen in shock. "What? No, you don't have to—"

She holds up a hand to cut you off. "Trust me honey, I've been through that kind of shit, and I didn't handle it nearly as well as you have. So I think you deserve a free meal. No arguments, just accept it."

You look down at your lap with a small laugh. "Alright then."

Your meal is excellent, especially since it's free. Even though you're still upset about the events from earlier today, the burden has lessened a little.

You've just received your order of a slice of apple pie for dessert when you hear a voice off to your right: "Dean, no, leave the girl alone."

Curious, you turn to see what's going on—and look straight into the candy-apple green eyes of the hottest man you've ever seen.

He and another guy were sitting three seats away from you. He was giving you—and the pie?—the most suggestive look ever. You never thought you'd be in to rugged-looking guys, but he was definitely an exception. He's clad in a leather jacket, flannel shirt and worn jeans that had probably seen their hay day about five years ago. His short blondish hair has that messy-but-hot style that a lot of guys try to achieve but just can't pull off. His face is literally nothing but perfect, and you're already cooking up fantasies that involved kissing those wonderful lips.

He winks—and your inner self starts shrieking and flapping her hands.

You mentally shake yourself. _Get a grip, Y/N, he's just a dude—oh, god, he's coming over here!  
_  
You take a breath and try to steady yourself as best you can, but your heart is about to pound right out of your chest.

Finally, green eyes is sitting right next to you. "Hey there," he says with an easy smile.

"Hi," you respond, trying not to grin like an idiot. You glance over his shoulder at the other guy, who had rolled his eyes and thrown his hands up in exasperation when green eyes left. "Who's that?" You question in amusement.

He waves a dismissive hand. "That's just my brother, Sam. I'm Dean, by the way. What's your name?"

"Y/N."

He grins. "A pretty name to go with a pretty face."

You rolled your eyes, the excitement within you starting to taper off. Sure, he's unbelievably hot, but this guy is obviously a man-whore just looking for a hookup. And after today you don't need any of that, you just want to go home and read a book or watch TV.

You take a bite of your pie. "Mhm."

"Hey, what do you say we get together sometime? You could come over to my place."

You shake your head. "I'm good, thanks."

"Oh, come on—"

You turn to glare at him, irritated. "About an hour ago, I just walked into my bedroom to find my loving boyfriend with his legs wrapped around another girl's neck, in my own bed. So forgive me if I'm not in the mood to indulge your fuck-and-run fantasy."

He stares at you in shock. "Uh . . . okay," he sputters. "I-I'm sorry . . . " He quickly scuttles back over to his seat, and you can see his brother laughing at him.

You feel a twinge of guilt as you turn back to your pie. _That was kind of rude._

 _Well, he wouldn't leave me alone!_

But you didn't have to snap at him like that.

"Urgh." You rub your temples and set your fork down.

"You finished, sweetie?"

You look back up at Maggie. "Yeah, I am," you smile, "and thanks again."

"It's no trouble! I'll see you later, and don't hesitate to call me if you need somebody to talk to."

"I'll do that." You slide off the stool, grab your purse and head out the door.

You've just reached your car when you hear a familiar voice behind you.

"Y/N! Wait!"

You turn to see—what was his name?—Dean—jogging towards you. You hold up your car key, gripping the base in your fist with the key sticking up between your fingers. "I will cut you," you say with a glare.

He stops a several feet away and holds up his hands. "Whoa, hey, I just came out here to apologize."

You raise an eyebrow at him.

"I was a total dick in there," he continues, "and for that, I'm sorry."

You study him suspiciously for a moment, but he seems sincere. You lower your key with a sigh. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"Hey, don't about it," he says, waving off your apology. "I deserved it." Now that you're not pointing a weapon at him, he comes closer and leans against your car. "You wanna hang out sometime? Not a hookup," he says quickly, "Just a couple of drinks or something."

You chew the inside of your cheek in indecision.

"Come on," he says, "this way I can make it up to you for today."

You sigh. "Okay, fine. But drinks are on you."

He grins—a real grin this time, not a flirty one—and your heart just about melts right there. "Done!" He says. "You know where Baby Bird's is? We could meet there."

"Yeah, I know where it is. When do you want to meet?"

"Does tonight at seven work?"

"Sure."

"Awesome," he smiles. "See you then." He waves before turning and heading back inside.

You feel a giddy smile spread across your face as you get in your car. Maybe today won't be so bad after all.

 **TBC.**

 **Remember, reviews are food for a writer's soul :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**IT'S BACK!**

 **Sorry this was on hiatus so long, hopefully it won't happen again. I had some serious writer's block, and I also wanted to focus on my other story.**

 **I don't plan on this fic being very long, just a few chapters. But I hope you guys enjoy!**

 **Y/N = Your Name**

It's around 6:45 that evening when you leave to go meet Dean. You're wearing your favorite dress and a pair of combat boots, wanting to look good while keeping it simple.

The sun is low in the sky as you lock your front door behind you and head off down the sidewalk. Part of you is stupidly excited, because you get to go hang out with a super attractive guy who also turns out to be pretty nice as well—and then the other part of you has to keep reminding yourself that _this isn't a damn date, get your hormon-y self under control._

After about ten minutes of walking, the blue neon _BABY BIRD'S_ sign comes into full view. It's a small little building, but it's a nice place, and everyone speaks very highly of it. It's not very busy at the moment—only a few cars and a motorcycle are parked outside—but the music is thumping and you can hear people talking and laughing inside. You smile and pick up your pace a little, reaching for the door.

But suddenly, a strong arm grabs you around the middle, a hand clamping over your mouth to stop your scream. You kick and claw as you're dragged off into the shadows, the person tossing you down a dark alley beside the bar. You leap to your feet and turn to run, only to find two men standing behind you. Panicking, you whirl around, but the first man who grabbed you was there, blocking your path. All three of them have smirks on their face that you don't like _at all._ And they're fucking _huge._

"What do you want?" You ask in a shaky voice. You can feel your body trembling in fear. _Are they going to rob me? Rape me? Both?_

The first man looks pointedly at your purse, which was still clutched tightly in your hand.

"You want money?" You ask. "Fine, take it!" You toss your purse him, not caring about your money at all. You just want them to leave you alone.

He catches it and rips it open. Rifling through your things, he pulls everything out and throws it on the ground until he finds your wallet. He opens it and pulls all your cash out, but then raises his eyes to glare at you. "Where's the credit card?"

"I-I don't have one." You'd left it at home.

He narrows his eyes at you.

"I swear!" You plead, your voice cracking.

He glares at you a moment longer before dropping the wallet and your purse, stuffing your cash into his pocket. For a moment, you think he's done terrorizing you.

But then he nods to the two men behind you, and they each grab your arms. Your start twisting and kicking for all you're worth, and you start to scream, too. But the first man lunges forward and delivers a punch to your gut, knocking the air clean out of you.

 _Oh, FUCK that hurts!_

He doesn't stop there, however. He keeps punching you, in the stomach, in the chest, and in the face. By now your vision has narrowed and everything is just a haze of pain. The other two throw you to the ground, and more blows rain down on you, this time from their feet as they kick you everywhere they can reach.

And all you can do is curl into a tight ball and wait for it to end.

* * *

Dean sits alone at a table near the door, drumming his fingers on the table. He checks his watch for the fifth time. You were over thirty minutes late.

 _Where is she?_ Dean wonders to himself. _Y/N wouldn't stand me up, would she?_

He chews his lip as he fingers the edge of the table. After another fifteen minutes, Dean lets out a frustrated sigh and decides he's done waiting.

He walks out into the night and blows out a breath in disappointment. _Guess she's not coming._ He starts to head across the parking lot towards his car, feeling hurt and a little angry.

A groan sounds from the alley nearby, and Dean freezes. Turning his head, he peers down the dark alley. He can't really see anything, so he cautiously makes his way into the shadows.

You don't know how much time has passed, but you realize that, finally, the relentless beating has stopped. You remain on the ground, paralyzed in agony, tears pouring from your eyes.

You hear footsteps nearby, and you try to call out for help. But your voice catches in your throat and all that escapes you is a moan of pain.

The footsteps come closer. "Hello?" A voice calls.

"Uh," you whimper.

Dean finally makes out a figure—a figure that's lying motionless on the ground. His eyes widen and he runs towards it, dropping to his knees beside the person.

You feel a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, hey," a familiar voice soothes. "What happened, are you alright? What's your name?"

You cough. "D-Dean?"

Dean sucks in a sharp breath, his stomach dropping. _"Y/N?"_

His eyes finally adjust to the dark, and he gasps in horror when he sees your bloodied and swollen face. "Oh, god, Y/N—what the hell happened?"

But you can't even answer him. You just sob in pain and turn your face away, not wanting him to see how awful you must look.

Dean curses. He swears to himself that, when he finds out whoever did this to you, he would make them fucking _pay._

He runs his hand gently through your hair. "Shh, it's okay," he tries to soothe you. "I'm gonna get you to a hospital."

You can feel strong arms envelope you as he lifts you off the ground as gently as he can. He holds you close as he carries you to his car, and you bury your face in his chest as you continue to cry quietly.

"I'm gonna lay you down in the backseat, okay?" He says softly in your ear. You sniffle and nod. He tries to lay you down gently, but every miniscule movement causes you intense pain. You whimper and cling to him, more tears escaping your eyes.

Dean winces at every pained sound you make. He finally manages to get you down on the seat, easing your clutching hands off his arms. He immediately yanks off his jacket and covers you with it. Closing the backdoor, he jumps behind the wheel and breaks every single speed limit on the way to the hospital.

* * *

When you wake, it's to the smell of bleach and to the sound of a steady beeping. The pain has dulled, but you're still aching.

You crack your eyes open, temporarily blinded by the bright light. You blink a few times and your eyes finally adjust.

"Y/N?"

Slowly, you turn your head towards the voice.

Dean is seated next to your bed, holding your hand, eyes filled with worry. When he sees you looking at him, he smiles in relief. "Hey, how do you feel?"

It takes you a moment to summon the energy to speak. "Hurts," you croak.

You can see the pain in Dean's eyes at your answer. "Okay, just hold on for over second, I'll call a nurse and they'll give you something." He hits the call button, and then gently strokes your hair while you wait.

You cough. "Wha' . . . 'appened?"

Dean bites his lip. "I was hoping you could tell me that. I found you in the alley beside the bar, barely conscious and beat to hell."

You close your eyes as you try to think back to what happened. "It . . . these . . . three men . . ."

Dean feels a flare of rage. "Three men? Did they do this to you?"

You nod. "Took . . . my money . . . beat me . . ." There's a hard lump in your throat and you begin to cry again.

"Hey, hey," Dean murmurs, wiping your tears away with his thumb. "I'm not gonna let them hurt you again, okay? I _promise_. _"_

It's then that a nurse comes in, and she and Dean have a quick conversation.

"She's still really out of it and in a lot of pain . . . I don't think she's up for a chat with the cops just yet . . . All she said was that three men robbed and beat her . . . Please, just give her something for the pain . . ."

Suddenly you can feel warmth flooding through you, and the pain instantly fades away. You let out a grateful sigh as you begin drifting on the edge of sleep.

As the nurse leaves, Dean sits back down next to you and continues stroking your hair back. He's filled with a mix of sorrow and rage as he takes in your injuries.

Your entire body is littered with cuts and colorful bruises. You have three broken ribs, a broken left wrist and arm, a bruised spleen, a black eye, a broken nose, a swollen lip, and even a hematoma on your right breast.

Dean seethes, and realizes that he's not only angry at the culprits, but at himself as well. Since you were at the bar, it meant that you must've been jumped as soon as you arrived, which was probably around seven. Dean had waited for you for forty-five minutes. Which meant that you had been lying alone outside, in the cold and the dark, for nearly an hour.

Dean feels sick. He squeezes your hand. "I'm so sorry I left you out there for so long," he whispers.

But you were already asleep.

 **TBC.**

 **Remember, reviews are food for a writer's soul ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much for all of your wonderful reviews! Y'all are amazing and I love you!**

 **Sorry for the wait, but this chapter is actually pretty long, so hopefully that will make up for it. Please enjoy!**

The next time you wake, you feel a little better. The pain isn't too bad, and you feel less sticky and groggy than before. You slowly roll your head to the side, and you blink.

Dean's still there. You hadn't expected him to stay; you could fully understand him just wanting to go home. But no, there he is, still sitting in that hard plastic chair, bent over with his head resting on the bed near your hip.

You smile and just watch him a moment. You can't see his face because it's buried in his arms, but from the way his back is steadily rising and falling, he must be asleep. You wish you could see his face, though. You're curious to know how he looks when he's sleeping.

You wonder if Dean senses you watching him, because he suddenly sucks in a breath and starts to sit up. He doesn't look at you right away, taking a moment to stretch and rub his eyes.

When he does turn to look at you, he lights up. "Hey, Y/N, you're back!" He scoots closer. "How do you feel?"

You think about it a moment. "Not too bad, actually," you croak. Your throat feels dry and crackly, and you cough. "Water," you rasp.

In less than a second, Dean is holding a paper cup to your lips. You try to raise your right hand to take it—the left is bound in a sling—but it's so heavy and aches when you try to move it. You blush in embarrassment as Dean feeds you the water, but he doesn't seem to think anything of it, and for that, you're grateful.

You pull back once you've taken a few sips. "Thanks," you say as Dean puts it down on the table next to the bed. "How long have I been out?"

He thinks about it. "About twelve hours. I brought you in a little after eight last night. You woke up about an hour later for a few minutes, but other than that you've been out cold."

You groan and drop your head back on your pillow. "God, I'm supposed to be at work right now!"

"Not in this condition you're not," Dean says sternly. "I'm sure you can afford to miss a few days."

You sigh in frustration. "Well yeah, I guess I _could_ , but I _hate_ missing work."

He chuckles. "Don't worry about it, you'll be fine," he says, patting your uninjured arm. "Right now you just need to focus on relaxing and getting better. And don't hesitate to tell me if you need anything."

You're sort of taken aback by his complete sincerity in this whole situation. Not that you don't appreciate it, but you're not used to people you barely know being so utterly nice and kind to you, as if you were the closest of friends.

You cock your head and decide to voice this thought. "Why are you being so nice to me?" You ask.

Dean seems caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

You start to shrug but wince in pain. "It's just . . . you barely know me. We've met, what, twice? And I wasn't exactly conscious the second time."

"Well, I'm sure as hell not gonna just run off and leave you alone, with nobody to sit with you and make sure you're okay, at least until we can find a family member or something. Is there anyone I can call for you?"

You avert your gaze, chewing the inside of your cheek.

Dean frowns in concern. "What is it?"

You sigh. "I don't really have much in the way of family. Well, technically speaking I do, but we don't get along. My parents are disappointed because I chose a different career than them—they wanted me to work for the family business, the one my great-grandma built from the ground up. But my dream was always to become a **(your career choice).** I have a sister, but we haven't talked in a long time. She's the CEO now. Just what my parents wanted. And she doesn't understand why I wouldn't follow their wishes." You let out a dry laugh. "I'm the family disappointment."

Dean huffs wryly. "I kinda know what that's like. Well, my brother more than me, but still."

"How so?"

He wets his lips before answering. "Our dad always wanted us to join the military like him, and when our mom died he went a little crazy with it. Ever since I was four years old and as soon as Sammy—my brother—could walk, our dad was training us to be soldiers. He even kept moving us around all the time. We never stayed in one place for more than a few months. It definitely wasn't the best way to raise kids, and Sam especially was miserable."

"God, that sucks," you say sincerely. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." The corner of his mouth curls up in a fond smile. "Sam was the one who finally had the guts to bust out. He'd secretly applied to Stanford University. The kid is smart as hell, so it really wasn't a surprise when he earned a full ride."

The sheer amount of pride and fondness in Dean's voice brings a huge smile to your face—well, it would have if your lip wasn't so painful and swollen, so you have to settle for a smaller one.

"When he told Dad about it . . ." He cringes. "It wasn't pretty. Dad told him that if he left, he better never come back."

You stare at him in horror. "That's awful!"

Dean shrugs, as if trying to convince you that it isn't a big deal—but his eyes say otherwise. "Sam left anyway. And right then and there, I packed my bags too and went with him. Sammy has always been my responsibility, and no matter how much my dad yelled at me, no matter how much he said he hated us for abandoning him, there was no way in hell that I was gonna let Sam go through that alone."

You beam at him. "That's so sweet!"

He blushes and laughs a little in embarrassment. "Am not."

"Yes, you are. You also giggle like a little girl and it's adorable."

He turns even redder and pretends to glare, but you can see the rather poorly hidden grin behind it. "Shut up."

You snort, but have to hunch over and wrap an arm around your broken ribs. "Ow," you say, but still smiling, "Don't make me laugh!"

"Oh shit, sorry," he chuckles, laying a hand on your shoulder.

"Y/N!"

You turn your head towards the unexpected voice, and the smile on your face instantly vanishes.

Brandon, your very recent ex, is standing in the doorway.

He rushes inside, looking strickened. "Y/N! Oh, god, what happened? Are you okay?"

You glare at him. "Brandon, what are you doing here?"

"I came as soon as I heard," he explains. "I . . . I know you don't believe me, but I still love you. I just—I'm so sorry about what happened, it was an accident, I swear!"

Your eyebrows almost fly off of your forehead, they shoot up so fast. "An _accident?!"_ You all but shriek. "A motherfucking _accident?!_ Do you honestly think I'm that goddamn _stupid?!"_

Dean has turned to look at Brandon, and he remembers what you told him yesterday at the diner, about how your boyfriend cheated on you. He's now staring at your ex with an expression of unadulterated disgust.

You're still yelling at Brandon, even though it's hell on your broken ribs and busted lip. "So what, you just happened to _trip_ and _fall_ into her mouth? In _my fucking bed?!"_

"I-I know, I'm sorry!" He pleads. "Just please, give me another chance!"

"NO!"

When Brandon tries to come closer, reaching out to touch you, Dean leaps to his feet and puts himself between the two of you.

"She said no," Dean said lowly. "And I think it's time for you to leave."

Brandon instantly goes from sorry and desperate to cold and angry. He glares at Dean, and then looks over Dean's shoulder at you. "Who the fuck is this?" he demands.

"Someone who actually respects Y/N and cares for her well-being," Dean snarls, moving over so that Brandon can't look at you again.

"Fuck you, man!" Brandon spits, stepping forward to get into Dean's face. But Dean doesn't seem at all intimidated. He stands his ground, glaring right back at Brandon, and you're afraid that fists will start flying.

A few nurses walking by in the hall have started stopping outside the door, looking nervous. One of them finally speaks up. "Um, excuse me—is everything alright in here?"

You can't see Dean's face with his back turned, but he's pulling a very sarcastic smile at the nurse over Brandon's shoulder. "Everything is fine," he says. "He was just leaving." Dean turns cold eyes back to Brandon with a pointed look. Your ex glares right back for a good two or three tense seconds before begrudgingly stepping back. He walks to the door, but stops and turns to look back at Dean with murder in his eyes. "This isn't over," he growls lowly. You feel a flash of fear as he finally walks out the door and out of sight.

The nurses leave and Dean comes back to sit next to you. He sees the fear in your eyes and takes your hand. "It's okay," he says quietly. "I'm not gonna let him hurt you."

You squeeze his hand. "It's not me I'm worried about."

He smiles reassuringly. "Hey, my dad might've been an ass, but hell if he didn't teach me how to defend myself. I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?" You ask, still worried but rapidly tiring out after all that yelling. Your head is suddenly very heavy and you let it drop to the pillow.

"I'm sure. Now go to sleep, I'll be right here when you wake up."

"Don't have to," you mumble, your eyes closing. "Don't want to burden you. You can go home if you want."

You feel rough fingers brushing your hair back, but you don't have to energy to open your eyes anymore. "I'm not going anywhere," he tells you quietly.

And that warms your heart to a ridiculous degree, and it skips a beat as you drift off to sleep.

* * *

The next couple of days pass quietly. A police officer comes to take your statement and file a report, the doctors are nice enough and good at their job, and you're beginning to heal at a fair rate. The pain is still a problem at times, but they provide you with enough painkillers to help without turning you into an addicted vegetable.

It also turns out that Dean had called Sam the night he brought you to the hospital, and Sam had gone back to the scene of your mugging and collected your things, since Dean had been focused on getting you help at the time. He actually comes in right after the police officer leaves, flashing you a sweet smile and setting your purse on the bedside table. He stays for a while, and the three of you just talk a while as you get to know the brothers and they get to know you. You thoroughly enjoy their company, and when you begin to fall asleep again—you hate how easily you tire out now—he politely excuses himself with a sincere smile and a friendly squeeze to your shoulder.

Dean, however, rarely leaves your side. Apparently he owns and operates his own auto repair shop (Winchester's Garage), so he can pretty much take off whenever he wants. At first you feel guilty, because you think he's only staying out of a sense of obligation. But every time you try to tell him that he doesn't have to stay, he insists that it's no trouble. You finally begin to realize that, maybe he's not staying out of obligation, but because he truly wants too.

When you reach this silent realization, you find yourself grinning like an idiot. _Good Lord, what is it about this man that can turn me into a twelve-year-old girl?_

Dean notices your giddy demeanor and grins. "What are you so excited about?"

"Oh—oh, um, I'm just glad I get to go home today. I've had enough of hospitals by now." You slide out of bed, landing on (thankfully) steady feet. Dean hands you a folded pair of scrubs one of the nurses was kind enough to give you, since the clothes you arrived in are still bloodstained. You could have sent Dean to your house to get fresh clothes—but you weren't sure you trusted him _that_ much just yet.

You do, however, trust him to drive you home, and after wheeling you out of the hospital, he helps you out of the wheelchair and into his car. You give him directions and the two of you continue to chat on the way. You've found that Dean is extremely easy to talk to. He's so polite and friendly that it's almost unreal, and you sincerely hope that the two of you will remain in contact and become good friends.

 _And maybe more?_ A small part of you thinks, and your heart skips at the possibility.

But the other part of you has to remind you to think rationally. You did _just_ break up with someone, and plus, it was probably only natural that you'd feel an attraction to the man who saved your life. And besides, he doesn't really seem like he likes you in that way. So far he's treated you as a friend, and nothing more.

You try to ignore the twinge of disappointment.

Dean pulls up in into your driveway, parks and cuts the engine. "You gonna be okay on your own?" He asks.

You take a deep breath. Being attacked like that had traumatized you, but you felt as though you were on your way to dealing with it. You look up at your house and remind yourself that all the doors and windows were locked, and no one would be waiting to jump you inside.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and tightly clutch your purse. You nod. "I think so."

You step out of the car, and Dean walks you to the door. "You have my number," he says, "so if you need anything, just call."

You smile. "Thanks, I will."

"I mean, seriously, anything. You think somebody's in your house? Call me. You need medicine? Call me. You need tampons—"

You crack up and hold up your hand to cut him off. "Okay, okay, stop, I get it!"

He laughs, and your heart flutters again. The way he just lets himself go sometimes, when he seems so happy and sincere, is a wonderful thing to witness. In this moment, he's not _hot_ or _sexy_ or anything like that—in fact, there's really no word to describe what you see. You find that you're not just attracted to a pretty face, but to his actual personality. To hear his laugh and see his smile is the most wonderful thing you think you could ever witness.

You finally tear your eyes away and try to focus on getting the door unlocked. It's a bit tricky with one hand—your left arm is still in a sling—but you manage to get it open. You step inside and once again take a deep breath, trying to steel yourself for the prospect of spending the night alone for this first time.

But your heart still pounds, and you squeeze your keys in sweaty palms. To you, every nook and cranny has someone hiding in it, and you find yourself very reluctant to shut the door and continue to your bedroom.

Dean places a hand on your shoulder, and you jump, whirling to look at him.

"Woah, hey, you okay?" He asks, holding his hands up so as to not scare you with a sudden touch again.

You chew your lip—which has finally healed and gone back to its normal size—and turn your head to look back into your house. "Um, actually . . ." You burn with embarrassment, and you try to keep the tears of fear and shame out of your eyes. "Could you maybe . . . um . . ." You stop when your voice cracks around the hard lump in your throat, and you curse yourself for starting to cry.

But Dean doesn't seem to think anything of it, and all he does is smile reassuringly. "I'd like to stay the night," he says, "If it's okay with you?"

Your stomach unclenches and you smile in relief. "That would be great," you tell him. "Thank you."

He beams, and you step back to allow him inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. You give him a brief tour of your modest house, inviting him to go ahead and order some pizza while you get a shower.

Half an hour later finds the two of you crashed on the couch, binging Game of Thrones and stuffing yourselves with pizza. You thoroughly enjoy the food and the company, especially since it's a nice change from hospital food and next to no privacy.

Soon the evening fades into night time, and you don't even realize you've begun to fall asleep until Dean nudges you. "You probably shouldn't sleep cramped on the couch with those injuries," he murmurs.

You groan reluctantly, but push yourself up. Dean walks you to your room and helps you get into bed, since it's a bit awkward with only one arm available.

You point to your closet. "There's some extra blankets in there," you yawn, "So help yourself. And here—" You toss your extra pillow at him. He catches it easily and smiles. "Thanks."

"No, thank _you_ for staying," you say. "Seriously. I'm really grateful."

He shrugs as he reaches into your closet to get a blanket. "Don't worry about it, it's really no problem." He tucks the blanket and pillow under his arm, heading for the door. "I'm happy to do it!"

The two of you stare at each other a moment, and something that you can't really identify passes between you. Then Dean blinks, as if remembering where he is, and gives you a shy wave as he shuts your bedroom door.

You wonder briefly what just happened, but then decide that it was probably nothing. You shift around, looking for a comfortable position, before closing your eyes and greeting sleep.

Unbeknownst to you, Dean stands outside your bedroom door, taking a deep breath. _God, I like her so much,_ he thinks. _But does she even want to be with me?_

He heads back to the couch and begins to bed down. All the while, his thoughts are a whirlwind of activity. _I hope she doesn't notice how flustered I get around her._

Dean always feels so giddy when he's around you, and the few times he isn't, you're all he can think about. He feels like he hides his nervous excitement from you pretty well . . . except for when you called him sweet and adorable. Dammit, he couldn't stop blushing then, and now he can't stop grinning every time he remembers.

But he's having a really hard time telling if you feel the same way about him as he does you. He doesn't want to actually flirt, because he doesn't feel it would be right. You were injured and vulnerable right now, and if you don't feel the same way, he doesn't want to make you feel like he's trying to take advantage of you.

Dean finally decides to wait a few days and see how things played out. Maybe once you were better, he'd ask you out . . . if he had the courage to do so.

 _Y/N's just so . . ._ He didn't even know how to describe you. _She's just . . . amazing. I've never met anyone like her. She's incredibly intelligent, and funny, and interesting, and fun to talk to and hang out with. And beautiful. Good God, is she beautiful!_

And Dean fell asleep thinking about you, a huge, unsuppressed smile on his face.

 **Remember, reviews are food for a writer's soul ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**FINAL CHAPTER!**

 **Hey guys! Okay, first off, I am SO, SO SORRY about the long wait! School just started back, do I've been busy stressing about that, but I finally found the time to get back to this. And since y'all had to wait so long, I decided that, instead of splitting this into two chapters like I originally planned, it'll be just one long one.**

 **Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed. It really means a lot to me, and it makes my day to see your notifications.**

 **Now, on to the story!**

You wake to a considerable amount of pain. Your head and broken bones ache, as well as your chest where your bruised spleen resides. You lie in bed for a few moments, taking steady breaths as you try to breathe through the pain. You seem to get somewhat of a hold on it, and then slowly get out of bed and head to the bathroom with a change of clothes. You do your business, brush your teeth and your hair and then take a moment to study your reflection.

Your face, thankfully, looks better by now. Your swollen lip has gone back to normal, and your black eye has mostly faded, even if it still has a little ways to go. Your broken nose looks okay—still a little bruised under the bandage, but at least it's not crooked.

You start to change, a process hindered by your sling, but you somehow manage it. But once you get your shirt off, you grimace at the ugly bruises littering your torso. The worst is the hematoma on your breast—it's a deep purple, the edges fringed with blue and sickly yellow. It has shrunk, but it's still as cringe worthy as ever. You were about to put your bra on, but after studying the hematoma and gently prodding it, only to be met with sharp bolts of pain, you decide, fuck the bra. You toss it onto the counter and begin awkwardly pulling your shirt over your head.

When you emerge from your room, you're met with the smell of bacon. You follow it to the kitchen and find Dean standing over the stove, cooking breakfast. And singing Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of his lungs.

" _SO YOU THINK YOU CAN STONE ME AND SPIT IN MY EYEEE—"_ he yelps when the bacon suddenly spits hot grease onto his hand. _"_ — _GOD FUCKING FUCK—"_

It's at this point that you snort so hard, you hurt your throat. Dean jumps and turns to see you standing in the doorway, and he's suddenly blushing furiously. But he's also grinning and playfully demands, "What are _you_ laughing at?"

You grin. "Oh, nothing, just your manly manliness."

He flexes dramatically. "Ah, milady, are you impressed?"

You giggle. _"Immensely."_

He laughs, and dammit, _why_ does he have to become ten times more attractive when he does?

You shake your head and try to stop staring as you approach the stove. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but you really don't have to cook."

"Don't worry about it, I wanted to," He insists. "I like cooking."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Especially since I grew up eating ramen and cheap diner food. Now that Sam and I have a place of our own, we actually have a _real_ kitchen so I can make _real_ food. I'm usually the one to cook meals anyway, since Sam's so busy with school."

"Mm." You lean towards the pan. "Well, it sure smells good."

"Yeah, and tastes better too," Dean grins.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are seated across from each other at the island, digging into eggs, bacon, and pancakes.

"My God," you mumble around a mouthful of fucking delicious food, "can I keep you?"

Just as Dean laughs, there's a loud banging on the door. You jump, heart suddenly pounding, and the first thing you think is, _Is it the muggers coming back to finish the job?_

Dean has already leapt to his feet and is stalking towards the door. It's here that you can finally see all the military training his father drilled into him—the way he moves silently, hands held in a defensive stance, calculating eyes void of emotion—it's actually a little scary to watch. You slide off your stool and move back into the living room, where you'll have a view of the door but can run back to your room if necessary.

Someone pounds on the door again. "Y/N!" the person shouts. "Open the damn door!"

"Oh, no," you mumble. It's Brandon.

Dean looks back at you. "You want me to get rid of him?"

You flinch when Brandon continues banging. "Please?" you say helplessly.

Dean turns back to the door and wrenches it open. "What do you want?" he growls.

Dean's form blocks the doorway so you can't see Brandon's face, but you can certainly hear the rage in his voice. "I want to know what the fuck you're doing at my girlfriend's house!"

"Alright, get this through your thick head: She's not your girlfriend anymore. She invited me to stay and I was happy to. And you're drunk. Go home."

" _Fuck you!"_ Brandon must have tried to shove Dean, because Dean jerks back a little in the doorway but otherwise doesn't move.

You hear Dean heave a sigh. "Look, man, I don't want to fight. Right now, Y/N's hurt and upset. Think about her. If you keep trying to stir up trouble it's only going to end up hurting her more."

But Brandon doesn't seem to listen. He grabs Dean's collar and yanks him forward and down the steps, the two of them tumbling into the driveway. You scream in shock and horror and run forward to stand in the doorway.

Brandon manages to land a punch across Dean's cheek, and then tries to shove his face into the cement. "Stop it!" you scream, tears beginning to stream down your face.

But Dean quickly gets over the shock of the sudden attack, and in less time than it takes you to blink he has Brandon pinned to the ground, arms twisted behind his back. Your ex is screaming in pain, and Dean loosens his grip just enough to get him to shut up. Dean leans down and hisses something into Brandon's ear. You're too far away to hear what Dean's saying, but Brandon's eyes widen in terror and he freezes his struggles. Dean roughly lets him go as he stands, kicking Brandon away for good measure.

Brandon scrambles to his feet and stands balanced on his toes, as if ready to take off at any second. He turns to face you, but keeps his eyes downcast. "Um, Y/N," he begins in a shaky voice, "I would like to sincerely apologize for all the trouble I've caused you—and um, I'll be leaving you alone from now on." Then he turns and half-runs down the street.

You stare after him in confusion and amazement, but your heart is still pounding and there's a tight pain in your chest. You lean back against the doorframe, one hand massaging your chest. Dean quickly runs over to you and pulls you inside, shutting the door. He places his hands on your shoulders and leans down to look into your eyes. "Are you alright?" he asks in a worried tone.

You nod, although your eyes are still watery and pinched in pain. "Y-Yeah—" You sniffle, and Dean reaches up to help wipe your tears away. "I think I just got too excited—my chest hurts a little."

"Come sit down," Dean urges. "I'll get you some water."

He leads you back to the living room and you ease yourself down onto the couch. While Dean goes to the kitchen, you gasp a little as you try to hold back a sob. For some reason, you just can't stop shaking, and the overwhelming sense of fear still attempting to consume you. _Get it together,_ you silently scold yourself. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

Dean comes back and you try to hide your emotions. You gratefully take the glass of water from him and sip it slowly. But Dean can see your hand shaking, and he gently touches your arm. "Are you sure you're okay?"

You try to wipe the tears away, but more just keep coming. "I'll be fine," you say thickly, your voice cracking.

"You remember what that hospital psychologist said about PTSD? It's okay to get upset. You don't have to feel ashamed."

You sigh. "It's just so frustrating. Even though it happened days ago, it still has to _follow_ me." You choke on another sob.

Dean takes the glass to set it down on the coffee table, and then moves closer to wrap his arm around you. "It'll pass," he murmurs. "You just have to give it time."

You bury your face in his shoulder and gasp around another sob. Dean pulls you closer so that you're leaning into his side. He sits with you for a good while, carding his fingers through your hair and holding you gently to avoid hurting your broken arm.

After several minutes, you manage to calm down. Your heart slows and you finally stop crying. You sit up away from Dean as you reach for the tissue box sitting on the coffee table. You sniffle and wipe your eyes in embarrassment. _Dear God,_ you think, _I just cried all over this poor man. Wonder what he thinks of me now._

You blow your nose and huff out a laugh. "Am I pretty yet?" you ask in a weak attempt at humor. Your face must be beet red by now, eyes swollen and nose running.

But Dean only tilts his head and regards you with a strange, pensive expression. "You've always been beautiful," he says quietly.

You freeze, your heart fluttering. Finally a smile finds its way onto your face and you dip you head shyly. "Um, th-thanks," you murmur.

Dean blinks, seeming to come back to himself, and shifts to face you more. "Look," He says, reaching out to take your hand. "I know you probably still think I'm only doing all of this just to be nice, and I know I've said this before, but I can promise you—I'm doing this because I really _want_ to. I care about you, and want you to be okay and I want you to be my friend. That's why, when all this is over, I'm hoping we can stay in contact."

You smile. "Actually I was hoping for the same thing."

He lights up at that. "Awesome!"

The rest of the day is spent just like all the others. The two of you just hang out and talk and watch movies and play video games and dumb, made-up games and laugh together . . . and it would've be one of the best days of your life if there hadn't been one particular cloud hanging over you.

" _I want you to be my friend."_

His friend. Just friend. Not . . .

These thoughts whirl through your head as you lay in bed later that night. You'd thought that there was something between you . . . little moments throughout the time Dean had been here had indicated—or at least you _thought_ had indicated—that maybe, just maybe . . . he liked you. Like the times when he'd touch you and his hand would linger a moment longer than necessary, or when you'd catch him staring at you and then he'd quickly look away when you noticed, or when the two of you would be talking and laughing together, and he'd suddenly gaze intently into your eyes with those bright green orbs of his.

You realize you're grinning like a fool into the darkness of your room, but then you drop it with a sigh. You try to be realistic—after all, why would a wonderful, amazing, handsome man like him, who is obviously _way_ out of your league, be into you?

Unbidden, tears try to fill your eyes as you roll over onto your side, squeezing your pillow. _Wow, now I'm being a brat,_ you think sullenly to yourself. _So he doesn't like you, big deal. Get over it. He's still a great guy and a great friend. You'll find love somewhere else._

But you don't _want_ to find love anywhere else.

You scowl angrily and bury your face in your pillow, trying to ignore the sharp pain in your chest.

* * *

A few weeks later and you've healed completely, and both you and Dean have gone back to your normal lives, although the two of you hang out regularly.

In fact, right now you were lounging on his couch next to him and Sam late one Saturday night, drinking a beer and watching _Fateful Findings,_ one of the shittiest goddamn movies ever made. Horrible acting, horrible writing, horrible directing, horrible picture quality and what looked like a budget of about twenty bucks. And because it was so awful and also because everyone was a little drunk, it was hysterical and you were all loving it.

You scoff out a laugh. "Since when do hospital rooms have carpet? This is obviously somebody's house."

"And what about that lab coat that's actually just a dress shirt," Sam chimes in with a drunken giggle.

The three of you were cracking up as the scene continued. The guy in the fake hospital bed had over half his face covered with "bandages" and was dramatically removing all the equipment attached to him.

"Those IV cords don't even have needles in them!" Dean says. "They're just taped to his arms!"

"And why does he have an oxygen mask _and_ a nasal cannula?"

" _That thing isn't even in his nose!"_ You shout while laughing your ass off. "It's literally _taped on top of the bandages!_ HOW THAT IS SUPPOSED TO WORK!?"

All three of you nearly topple off the couch, dying laughing at the stupidity of it all, and by the time the movie is over everyone is crying and quite drunk.

After a while, you all manage to pull yourselves together somewhat and you help Sam and Dean clean up. Then you head to the bathroom, do your business and splash some cold water on your face to try to sober up some. But your head is still swimming, so you go back to the living room where the boys are and ask, "Is it okay if I just crash on your couch tonight? I don't think I'm good to drive."

"Sure," Dean says. "Just let me get you a blanket and a pillow."

"Thanks," you smile. A few minutes later and you've kicked off your shoes, bedded down on the couch and passed out.

"Goodnight, Y/N," Dean calls softly, turning off the light and padding out of the room to the kitchen.

Dean hears a chuckle and turns to see Sam leaning against the sink, arms crossed and smirking.

Dean frowns. "What?"

"When are you gonna ask her out?"

Dean's face suddenly flushes red. "What're you talking about?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "Dude, I see the way you two look at each other. It's obvious to everyone _except_ you and Y/N that you're into each other."

Dean pretends to busy himself with getting a glass of water. "Well, you're wrong," he mumbles. "Maybe I do want to be with her, but every day I realize more and more that she's way out of my league. It'll never happen."

"Whoa, wait—out of _your_ league? Since when is _any_ woman out of the great _Dean Winchester's_ league?"

Dean gives a frustrated sigh. "This is different. All those other women—they were just . . . we were never a _thing_. It was only about sex. I can't remember the last time I actually had a committed relationship. I've never been interested in having a relationship, and I've never met anyone I'd want to have one with. . . . And then Y/N comes into my life and I just . . . I . . . I don't know, okay? Stop laughing, Sam!"

"Sorry," Sam chuckles, "It's just, I've never seen you this nervous about a woman before. But come on man, she's seriously into you! She's an amazing girl and you gotta ask her out now before another guy swoops in and gets her first—because, seriously, someone like her will attract a lot of people."

Dean nervously fiddles with his belt loop. "But how do you know she'll say yes?" he finally says desperately.

"Oh, I'm sure she will. But you'll never find out if you never ask."

Dean blows out a breath. _Okay,_ he thinks to himself, _you can do this. Tomorrow, you're gonna ask her._

* * *

The next morning, you wake up with that icky residual feeling that always follows getting drunk. You rub grit out of your eyes and stretch. Pushing yourself up from the couch, you fold up the blanket and drape it over the back before pulling on your shoes. If the silence of the house is any indication, neither Winchester is awake yet. Part of you wants to wait for them, but the other part _really_ wants a shower and an aspirin. So, you scrawl out a quick note for the boys, grab your keys and drive home, eager to clean up and sleep a little more.

Later, sometime around noon, your phone pings. You sit up from your position on the couch and pick it up, glancing at the screen. You open the text from Dean:

 _Hey, i heard there's gonna be fireworks down at the lake tonight. U wanna come?_

You smile and type out a reply:

 _Sure, sounds fun!_

A second later your phone pings again.

 _Great! i'll pick you up around nine :)_

* * *

Nine o'clock rolls around, and your doorbell rings. You grab your purse and open the door, where Dean is standing on the top step with his hands in his pockets and an easy grin on his face. "Hey," he greets as you close and lock the door behind you. "You ready to go?"

"Yep!" You bound down the steps with him, and Dean quickly jogs to the passenger side door of the Impala and opens it for you.

"Thanks," you smile as you slide into the seat, and then something occurs to you. "Sam isn't coming?" you ask curiously when Dean climbs in behind the wheel.

It's so quick you almost miss it, but for a fraction of a second you see Dean tense. "Um, no actually," he says, cranking the car up. "He, uh, he had a paper to write."

"Oh. Guess it's just us, then."

"Yeah, guess so," Dean laughs, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he sounds almost . . . nervous.

 _That was weird,_ you think to yourself.

But when you arrive at the lake twenty minutes later, those thoughts slide out of your mind. The fireworks hadn't started yet, but the sky was clear and the stars were bright and beautiful.

Dean drives slowly around the lake until he finds a spot distanced away from the other groups of people camped out to watch. The two of you get out of the car and climb up to sit on the hood.

Dean checks his watch. "They should start in just a little bit."

You tilt your head back to study the stars. "It's so pretty out here," you comment wonderingly. "I don't know why I don't come more often."

"Maybe we should start," Dean suggests. "Every weekend or something?"

You smile, you eyes still glued to the sky. "That would be nice."

The next few minutes pass in comfortable silence. Well, for you it's comfortable, but little do you know, Dean's stomach is churning nervously as he tries to gather up his courage.

Finally he takes a deep breath. "Y/N?" He says tentatively.

"Yeah?"

He coughs a little. "Um, I've been thinking . . . y'know, over the past couple of months . . ." he trails off, and you finally move your gaze from the sky to him. It's dark, so it's hard to see his face, but you can still make out a nervous expression, which confuses you.

Dean chews his lip, trying to find the right words to say.

"Dean?" You prompt him quietly, wondering what was going on.

Finally he blows out a breath. _Bite the bullet,_ he thinks. _Either it works out or it doesn't._

Dean turns to face you. "Y/N," he says firmly, "I like you. A lot. I have ever since I met you, and I know that when we first met I was just looking for sex but it's way more than that now."

You're frozen, unblinking, heart pounding, mouth hanging open slightly in shock.

"When I saw what those muggers did to you . . . the only other times I've ever felt that angry in my life were when someone hurt my little brother. And I felt something else, too, but I didn't really know what it was. But then those days I stayed with you and took care of you . . . that was when I figured it out. I think . . . Y/N, I think I'm falling in love with you."

You sit there staring at him, still frozen, unsure of what you say. Part of you if it's elated— _Oh my god he likes me?!_ But the other part is scared to believe that this is real, that it's actually happening.

When you remain silent, Dean suddenly becomes flustered again. "I-I mean, I'm sorry, it's okay if you don't feel the same way, I . . . I just . . ." he starts to slide off the hood and walk away, but finally your brain bursts into action and you reach out to grab his arm before he can.

"Wait!" you gasp, "Dean, I . . . I feel the same way."

He slowly meets your eyes again. "Y-You do?"

You nod. After hesitating a moment, Dean reaches out to touch your shoulder, and then he begins moving closer. He brushes your hair behind your ear, his hand coming to rest on the side of your neck. He keeps coming closer, and closer, and oh god, you can feel his breath on your lips—his other arm has wrapped around your waist—you can see each and every dark eyelash—

His lips meet yours, and your world explodes.

Dean's lips are soft and full. The hand on your neck moves gently up into your hair, while the other tightens around your waist. Lightning bolts shoot through you, traveling all the way down to your fingers and toes. You heart is pounding so loud you're sure he can hear it and you can't even breathe—

The kiss breaks, and both of you gasp for breath with your foreheads pressed together. You're so full of giddiness you can barely contain it, and it shows with the huge grin on your face.

You pull back a little so you can look at Dean. He's grinning too, and for a moment you just stare deeply into each other's eyes.

Then you plant your hands on his chest and shove him right off the hood.

He hits the ground with a shout, and you crawl to the edge to glare down at him. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for you to do that?" You demand. _"_ _Do you?!"_

The terrified expression on Dean's face vanishes and he bursts out laughing. "I'm so sorry," he chortles, "but if you come down here I'm sure I can make it up to you." He winks cheesily.

You can't help but laugh, and you slide off the hood into the soft grass and get down to lay on top of him. His arms wrap around you once again, one around your back and the other on the back of your neck. You card your hands through his hair, and your lips meet again, this time with his tongue gently probing your bottom lip. You gladly open your mouth and let him in. He tastes like cinnamon and smells like leather and motor oil, and you feel like you could just drown in him.

You lose track of time. You even forget where you are until the sound of a firecracker bursting startles you out of your blissful reverie.

"Mm." You roll to the side, off of Dean so that you're lying next to him. You tuck your head into his shoulder, head turned so you can still watch the fireworks. He runs his fingers gently up and down your back. "So," he murmurs, "officially dating now?"

"Oh, hell yeah," you say, grinning.

Dean shifts onto his side, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his lips just beneath your ear. "I'm glad you're finally mine," he whispers.

You heart stutters with joy at those words. "Me too," you whisper back, and, turning to bury yourself in his arms, the rest of the night is spent in a warm embrace under a sky full of stars and a fiery display as bright and wonderful as the joy filling your heart.

 _ **FIN**_

 **SO! I hope my ending wasn't too cheesy lol. I actually considered something of a smutty ending, but decided against it. I sort of wanted a more romantic ending rather than a sexual one, and plus I didn't want to have to give this story a mature rating for anyone who is uncomfortable reading those types of things.**

 **And one more note: I've been thinking about doing two more of these types of stories—with the reader being the main character—one for Sam and one for Cas. No guarantees at the moment, but I have a few ideas, so keep a look out!**

 **ANYWAY! Thank you so much for reading, and as always:**

 **Reviews are food for a writer's soul!**


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